Steven Fales is an actor/writer/producer best known for his solo play "Confessions of a Mormon Boy" which is now Part One in "Mormon Boy Trilogy." Steven is also a public speaker and creativity coach. www.facebook.com/fales.steven or fales.steven@gmail.com

Steven Fales

Steven Fales -- Actor/Writer/Producer

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Last October I workshopped a new cabaret act called CULT MODEL at the Laurie Beechman Theater in New York City. There is the possibility that I will get to do this fun new show at the Hollywood Fringe Festival June 2016. We shall see! Publicity photos by David Daniels of dav.d photography and Matt Spencer and title treatment by Scott Nicholson.

“A masterful storyteller and one hell of a writer.”—San Francisco Examiner

“Steven Fales is
easily among the best, if not the best, solo performers in the business."

—BroadwayWorld.com

Solo Salt Lake is proud to present internationally
acclaimed solo performance artist Steven Fales in the return of his solo
comedy MY MORMON VALENTINE:The Original Utah Version of Confessions of a
Mormon Boy (which hasn’t been performed in fifteen years) Feb.
11 – March 5with show
times at 3 p.m. and 7 p.m. at the 200-seat Leonardo Museum Theater
located at 209 E. 500 South, Salt Lake City 84111 (next to the Downtown Salt
Lake Library). Tickets start at $10 with discounts and group rates available
online at http://mormonboylive.brownpapertickets.com or 1-800-838-3006
and at the door. More information at facebook.com/mormonboylive;
Twitter @mormonboy; and Instagram @stevenfalesonline.

Steven Fales’ original solo “comic valentine” to Mormonism
and his kids, MY MORMON VALENTINE: The Original Utah Versions of Confessions of a
Mormon Boy is peppered with all kinds of delicious Utah/Mormon in-humor
and takes place somewhere in Mormon Eternity after Judgment Day. Dressed in a telestial
holocaust pinstriped jailbird jumpsuit with a pink triangle on his back, Fales escapes
from Mormon Outer Darkness to find himself trying to get St. Peter (the token
Catholic in Mormon Heaven) to let pass through the Pearly Gates. When his name isn’t on the list for
Heavenly Mother’s Celestial Tea Party all heck breaks loose. Will Steven make
it into the Celestial Kingdom to see his kids? Will he ever get to marry “Jimmy
Flinders”? Who else does he find waiting for him on the other side of the
Celestial Red Carpet?

My Mormon Valentine:
The Original Utah Version of Confessions of a Mormon Boyfirst started as a stand-up routine at Caroline's on Broadway and then a reading at the 2001 Sunstone Symposium simply titled Confessions of a Mormon Boy. The world premiere was at the Rose
Wagner Performing Arts Center over Thanksgiving Weekend 2001. It
has never been performed since. Recently dusted off, it has now
been re-titled My Mormon Valentine to
distinguish it from his wildly successful off-Broadway version Confessions of a Mormon Boy now titled XXX’d.

To read an excerpt from My
Mormon Valentine go to Steven’s blog When
All Else Fales : http://stevenfales.blogspot.com/2016/02/the-pre-existence-from-my-mormon.html

For more press photos: http://stevenfales.blogspot.com/2016/02/my-mormon-valentine-press-photos.html

More about MY MORMON VALENTINE: The Original Utah Version of Confessions of
a Mormon Boy

Now re-titled, updated and improved, MY MORMON VALENTINE was originally written within a year of his
divorce and excommunication from the LDS Church Summer 2000. The original
Sunstone/Utah version of what was simply called Confessions of a Mormon Boy began as standup routine at Caroline’s
on Broadway and then a reading at the Sunstone Symposium Aug. 2001 with ex-wife
Emily Pearson leading the standing ovation. That Sunstone version of Confessions of a Mormon Boy (now titled
MY MORMON VALENTINE to distinguish itself from the later off-Broadway version) went
on to have its world premiere at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center Black
Box Theatre Nov. 2001 where it became a local sold-out sensation with an extra
performance added due to local counter-culture support and the unofficial endorsement of Affirmation:
LGBTQ Mormons. It was published in Sunstone
Magazine under Dan Witherspoon (Dec. 2003). Now updated and performed for
the first time in 15 years this Sunstone/Utah version is still “PG-13” with no
swearing or nudity.

This run will transfer to Off The Cuff Theater in Cedar
City, Utah later this summer coinciding with the Utah Shakespeare Festival in
which Steven Fales once starred in The
Boy Friend and other productions.

“This was my first attempt to help end spiritual abuse and
religious violence in our churches, mosques and synagogues,” said Fales. “I was
astonished at the emails of support that poured in during and after the run. I
seemed to be onto something as I struck a universal chord so I kept going.
There was this real need to talk about these themes in the play.”

The Salt Lake Tribune
called that Sunstone/Utah version “Wistfully comic . . . a compelling play. It
feels like a sequel to Good-bye, I Love
You (Carol Lynn Pearson’s bestselling memoir) from the husband’s
perspective and a generation removed. An enormous achievement, the way he
performs his Confessions proves to be
a therapeutic and unflinchingly honest experience.”

Ivan Lincoln of the Deseret News declining to review this or
subsequent versions of the play citing ecclesiastical and personal reasons
shared in an email to the playwright.

Fales explains his reasoning behind bringing this version
back. “This valley and the Utah Gay Establishment is getting too
self-significant and is wallowing in a dangerous cycle of victim mentality. The
antidote is humor! I’ll be transforming the Leonardo Theater into the Celestial
Kingdom as I turn Mormon Eternity upside down and serve it back with all the
generosity-of-spirit an excommunicated Latter-day Saint can muster. Do we really believe eternity could possibly
look like this? I like to say I may no longer be a Latter-day Saint but
something about me will always be Mormon. That starts with good old-fashioned
hokey Mormon humor! This will always be my favorite version and I feel like
Salt Lake City, the epicenter of Mormondom, needs this more campier, wholesome
version now more than ever. I know I sure-as-heck do!” Steven recently
relocated to Utah to base his personal life where his two children are in
college and to export his “Oxy-Mormon” work from Salt Lake City.

That old Sunstone/Utah version of Confessions of a Mormon Boy later underwent significant re-writes
for “gentile” audiences when he took it back to New York and eliminated all the
Utah in-humor—including Heavenly Mother and the Pre-existence. That version,
directed by Tony Award Winner Jack Hofsiss (The
Elephant Man) became more R-rated due to the serious grittier urban content
that was added: drug experimentation and human trafficking. It went on to be
developed for a 10-week run at the Coconut Grove Playhouse in Miami in 2003 and
became a break-out hit of the 2004 New York International Fringe Festival (Overall
Excellence Award) before its official landmark commercial off-Broadway run at
the SoHo Playhouse 2006 (Outer Critics Circle Award Nomination) opening the
door for future shows about Mormonism and including The Book of Mormon on Broadway (consider South Park’s similar
marketing and themes).

Confessions of a
MormonBoy (off-Broadway version)
has toured extensively across the country and internationally including the Dublin
International Gay Theatre Festival (Oscar Wilde Award Nomination), Atlantic
Fringe Festival in Halifax (Overall Fringe Hit Award); Edinburgh Fringe
Festival and a month-long engagement at the Charing Cross Theater in London’s
West End with John Leguizamo's Ghetto Klown following Fales' run.

Confessions of a
Mormon Boy is perhaps the most successful non-celebrity driven autobiographical
solo play to ever premiere in Utah—having grossed over one million dollars at
the small theater box office while garnering awards and critical acclaim from major national
newspapers from the Associated Press,
“the stuff of great theatre” to Chris Jones of the Chicago Tribune, “uncommonly powerful” (Critic’s Choice) to Louise Kennedy
of the Boston Globe , “feels like a
sacred gift” (Critic’s Choice) to Frank Rizzo of Variety, “Brokeback Mormon” to the late Howard Kissel of the NY Daily News, “Fales is such a
perceptive writer”. Last spring he had his fourth run in Los Angeles at the
Zephyr Theatre , “The best of the solo genre.”--LA Times (Critic’s Choice) and most recently performed at the
Interfaith Peace Chapel at the Cathedral of Hope in Dallas Nov 2015.

Steven Fales’ first book Confessionsof a Mormon Boy: Behind the Scenes of the
Off-Broadway Hit (Alyson, 2006) was a 2007 Lambda Literary Award Finalist.
It is available on Amazon.com as is his storytelling album “Confessions of a Mormon Boy (Live from
London)” (5-stars BroadwayWorld.com) also on iTunes. Steven is featured in
the book The Creative Life by Julia
Cameron (The Artist’s Way), anthologized
in Latter Gay Saints, and wrote a monthly
advice column “Ask Mormon Boy” for The
Pillar. His blog is called When All
Else Fales. Steven is currently shopping his children’s book The Valentine Maker and finishing his
second book Oxy-Mormon Memoirs which
is based on his Mormon Boy Trilogy: Confessions of a Mormon Boy, Missionary
Position, and Prodigal Dad to be
published in 2017.

Fales recently performed all three solo plays in Mormon Boy Trilogy in repertory at
Richmond Triangle Players for the Acts of Faith Festival where the Washington Post called his work, “Powerful.
Moving. Funny. A rare artistic commodity: a stand-up-infused autobiographical epic containing chapter after
chapter of absorbing spiritual and personal crisis, sly cultural commentary and
humor.” Mormon Boy Trilogy is in development
for an off-Broadway run Spring 2017.

The new title for the off-Broadway version of Confessions is called XXX’d: The Off-Broadway Version of
Confessions of a Mormon Boy as in X’communicated; X’wife; X’rated (human
trafficking).

Other work includes his cabaret act Mormon American Princess (Joe’s Pub, NYC; Metropolitan Room,NYC; Don’t
Tell Mama, NYC; Upright Cabaret LA) and last October he premiered his second
cabaret Cult Model at the Laurie Beechman
Theater in NYC. Upcoming work includes his solos Conversations with Heavenly Mother: An Uncommon Diva and Joseph III; a stand-up show When All Else Fales; a play Sacred Strain; and a musical Saltair.

More about Solo Salt
Lake: Solo Salt Lake is a new theater company bringing the best of local,
national and international solo performance to the Mountain West. Steven Fales
says, “I have so many solo colleagues that have never played Salt Lake. I not
only need a home to develop my own work but a venue to bring in amazing artists
with voices that Salt Lake needs to experience and celebrate.” Steven Fales
produced Jeff Keys’ Eyes of Babylon
at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts
Center as well as Carol Lynn Pearon’s Mother
Wove the Morning in Las Vegas. He has coached many storytellers to fringe festival
gold with his solo performance workshops. Fales is the founder of the Facebook
group Solo Performance Alliance.

More about Steven
Fales: Actor/writer/director/producer Steven Fales is a member of Actors
Equity Association and has performed in New York and regional theatre across
the country and in television and film. His first union job was playing Hap in Death of a Salesman at New Harmony
Theatre in Indiana. He was the dad in the national “Ski Utah” commercial
2012-2014. Locally he has worked at Utah Shakespeare Festival, Pioneer Theatre
Co., Sundance Summer Theatre, Tuacahn Amphitheatre and has developed his solo
work at the Tavernacle, Wiseguys and the ComplexSLC. He has directed at Provo
Theatre Company and taught drama at the Waterford School where he directed his
adaptation of Everyman.

Steven is a public speaker and has spoken for groups ranging
from Affirmation: LGBTQ Mormons to Gamofites (Gay Mormon Fathers) to the
Gay/Straight Alliance at the Phillips Academy Andover/Exeter. He has guest
lectured at Hunter College in New York City and at the University of Maine. He
has raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for charity with his work including
a star-studded benefit for the Point Foundation at the Mitzi Newhouse Theatre
at Lincoln Center. He shared his experiences of surviving Reparative Therapy on
the Tyra Banks Show in which the episode “When It’s Not In to be Out” was
nominated for a GLAAD Media Award.

Steven was born in Provo, Utah and is the oldest of six
children. When he was one his family moved to Los Angeles where his father
attended medical school at USC. Steven was raised in Northern California and later
Las Vegas where he went to junior high and high school. Steven attended the
Boston Conservatory on scholarship before serving an LDS mission to Portugal.
He received his BFA in musical theatre at Brigham Young University where he was
a Young Ambassador. He received his MFA in classical acting from the University
of Connecticut and has attended the American Comedy Institute and studied privately
with legendary acting coach Larry Moss.

Fales is the former son-in-law of celebrated Mormon poet/playwright
Carol Lynn Pearson (My Turn on Earth,
Facing East, No More Good-byes) and
commissioned her portrait from the late gay Mormon artist Trevor Southey. Steven
Fales has two children with her daughter actor/writer/producer Emily Pearson (8: The Mormon Proposition; Dancing with
Crazy). Steven’s step grandfather is
LDS General Authority emeritus Hartman Rector, Jr. and step uncle was Daniel
Rector, former editor of Sunstone
Magazine. His father is currently an LDS bishop in Las Vegas where Steven
grew up and with whom he now has a very close relationship. They spend weekends doing projects together at his father's hobby ranch in Enoch, Utah.

Steven is an activist for HIV/AIDS and an advocate for the
Father’s Rights Movement and the National Parent Organization. He is in the
process of founding the Possibility Foundation that helps prevent human
trafficking in the LGBT Community and assist survivors of the sex industry
according to recent articles about him in the Huffington Post and OUT.com.

Steven purchased signed depiction releases to mention Carol
Lynn and Emily Pearson and his children in this play and all his work.

Celebrity
Endorsements for Steven Fales’ Off-Broadway Version

Judith Light: “Steven’s one-man show is a combination of an
incredibly emotional and heart-wrenching story, a powerfully written and
nuanced script, and a knock-it-out-of-the-ballpark performance. Confronting the
‘demons’ within, and seemingly around him, and ending up such an inspiring
example of true self-respect and authenticity left me deeply touched and
equally inspired.”

Bruce Vilanch: “My only regret is that I came so late to
this experience. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful—the best gay
coming-of-age, grappling-with-being piece I’ve seen since Dan Butler’s and you
know there have been a thousand of them ever since his. It’s really good. This
needs to be filmed.”

Lucie Arnaz: “When one can be so moved as to laugh till your
jaw hurts, wince with the sorry recognition at the pain distorted religion can inflict,
cheer with unashamed abandon at an enviable and inspiring bravery so rarely
expressed in the face of certain banishment and ridicule, you know you have had
a thrilling and emotionally fulfilling theatrical experience. Bravo, Steven
Fales and his Mormon Boy!”

Monday, February 1, 2016

Welcome, friends and press! This post contains new and past publicity photos, past production photos and new and past artwork for My Mormon Valentine: The Original Utah Version of Confessions of a Mormon Boy. New production photos will be uploaded during previews of the upcoming run at the Leonardo in Salt Lake City Feb 11-Mar 5 at http://mormonboylive.brownpapertickets.com.

See a samples below and continue down for more press photos available for upon request.

"Coming Out of Outer Darkness" photos by David Daniels of dav.d photography

Production Photos from 2001 production of "Confessions of a Mormon Boy" at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center. Photo credit Keith Jochim. Color followed by black and white.

What do you mean you don't know about the Mormon Pre-Existence?! In this blog entry I've posted the beginning of my solo comedy My Mormon Valentine: The Original Utah Version of Confessions of a Mormon Boy which includes Heavenly Mother and Jimmy Flinders in the Pre-Existence and St. Peter in the Celestial Kingdom. This is the 15-year anniversary revival of the "new and improved" Sunstone version of this show I premiered at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center in Salt Lake City over Thanksgiving Weekend 2001 following a reading at the Sunstone Symposium 2001 and before that a 5-minute stand-up routine at Caroline's on Broadway. The entire Salt Lake run sold out and we had to add an extra performance. I've dusted it off and it will be performed at the Leonardo Museum on February 11-March 5, 2016. There's a special benefit for the Utah Pride Center on Sat., Feb. 20 with a catered reception. For tickets go to http://mormonboylive.brownpapertickets.com.

This draft of My Mormon Valentine is subject to change without warning. And don't be the grammar police or you'll miss the point! (I was in a hurry.) The early "Sunstone" version of Confessions of a Mormon Boy was printed in its entirety with photos in Sunstone Magazine, Dec. 2003: https://www.sunstonemagazine.com/pdf/130-40-56.pdf

MY MORMON VALENTINE

The Original Utah Version of Confessions of a Mormon Boy

(A star drop somewhere in Mormon
Eternity. A hooded figure walks onto the stage holding a
flashlight. In the dark we hear "Ding Dong" and then . . . )

Excuse me, St.
Peter? Is Heavenly Mother there? I’d like to talk to Heavenly Mother. Could you
please tell her I’m here? You don’t know who that is? Look, pal, I know you’re
the only one up here that's not a Mormon but you really should know who your
Heavenly Mother is—the wife of Heavenly Father. The first wife of Heavenly Father. Could you please turn on some
lights? I know I’m in Outer Darkness but this is ridiculous! (Blinding lights come on revealing the back
entrance to the Celestial Kingdom. It resembles an opening
night party all decorated in disco whites.)

So . . . St. Petie. Hey! Heavenly Mother told me she would put my name on the list for her
Celestial Tea Party just in case the Judgment didn’t go well for me. It
obviously didn’t. (Takes of black hooded cape and turns around revealing
huge pink triangle on the back of his holocaust pinstriped jailbird jumpsuit.) Am I on it? Brother Fales. Steven. Middle name’s
Never. Get it? Never Fales! (Giggles.
Snorts.) I’m not? Oh, she must have forgot. It’s an easy mistake. I’m sure
it’s okay. Yes, I know unrepentant homosexuals aren’t allowed to go
to heaven but this is an exception. I have permission from the glorified,
resurrected Diva herself. She invited me personally. I promise I’ll leave just
as soon as it’s over. Now don’t tell me it’s not going on. I saw the flyers down
in hell. They floated down from the Celestial Republican Convention. I know
it’s today and my kids are in there. So I’m coming in! (Steven steps on the red carpet. Sirens go off.)

You need my ID? But
I’m a celebrity! I may be on the F-list and Affirmation may have disowned me but
I’m still a gay Mormon celebrity. In my mind. And I'm big in Germany. Okay. Here’s my Equity Card. I’m
SAG eligible. Did you see my national non-union "Ski Utah" commercial? "Greatest Snow on Earth!" I play the closeted gay dad. Here’s my Sons of the Utah Pioneers membership and my Son of Perdition card. I earned this. And
the Daughters of the American Revolution. I’ve paid my dues. Here’s my temple
recommend. It’s expired. But it’s okay, my dad’s a bishop.

It’s all there in
the Latter-day Genealogical Library. The first Fales came to Boston in 1628 as Puritan indentured
servants all the way from debtor’s prison in Cockney, England. “Please, sir,
can I have some Mormons?” The rich Fales relations became socialites
in Manhattan--i.e. The Fales Library at NYU. My
strain of Faleses ended up paupers in Mormon-hating Missouri where my grandpa
was born. Luckily his parents fled the poor house to homestead rural Wyoming—he
joined the Latter-day Saints there near Yellowstone—“Buffalo Bill” Cody, Wy-O
where Brother Jackson Pollack’s from—on the other side of Brokeback. Can I put
these away now? Thanks.

The password? What
password? I don’t know any passwords. Why do you need a token password to get
into heaven? That's Utahrded. Oh, Mormon Country. Next you’re gonna be asking for some secret
handshake. Is it my old Spirit Prison
PIN number on the micro chip branded on my butt? Got it! “A scout is
trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful,
thrifty, brave, clean and reverent?” Crap! How about, “Tomorrow and tomorrow
and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of
recorded time and all our yesterdays have lighted fools to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and
frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by
an idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing?” Darn it all to heck. I
need more coffee! Is it “Flip-ity-flip-pin-flip?” Is it, “Yves Saint Laurent, mon
cheri, si vous plait? Okay? Okay? Champs Elysees?” Do any of you out there know the
password? (Improvs to audience responses.) "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!" Shoot. How about, (Sings)“Don’t tell me not to live just sit and putter. Life’s candy
. . . “ Wait! I know, “Celestial Kingdom: SOME Visitors Welcome?” Kidding. About drinking coffee . . .

Look, buddy, I
came all the way from the Telestial
Kingdom to be here. I snuck past security and crossed the River Styx. I was the only surviving refugee on the ferry. Then I
rode a million light years up the escalator-to-heaven through those creepy decorations
in the lobby of the Leo all the way to the Terrestrial Kingdom where I finally
found the great glass service elevator that brought me here to the back door
of the Wonderful Wonka World of the Celestial Kingdom. Oh, St. Peter, don’t tell
me you don’t know about Mormon Eternity. Ever thought of simply ordering a copy
of Mormonism for Dummies on Amazon?

(Flips over the “Celestial Kingdom, Rear
Entrance. No Unauthorized Personal” sign and with bionic speed writes out “The
Plan of Salvation” or “Plan of HAPPINESS”.)

The Celestial
Kingdom, Mormon Heaven, where you’re here guarding the Swarovski chandeliers of the Pearly Gates? My Polish sucks. That’s only for the really
good Mormons. How did you get this job? Even Pope Francis lives down with me.
The Terrestrial Kingdom is where the okay Mormons go and all the average
non-member people with hum-drum lives who never had a chance to hear about the only
true and Restored Gospel upon the face of the whole flippin’ livin’ earth invented
by Joseph Smith. And the Telestial Kingdom, hell, is where the
really bad Mormons (and everyone else) go/goes. All the prostates. Apostates! Three
degrees of Latter-day Gory. Glory!

Heavenly Mother
told me in the Pre-existence that I was invited to her Post-Judgment Celestial
Tea Party. It’s like a big cast party or tea dance for all the sinners. Winners! A White Party? The
Pre-existence. Oh, you Catholics don’t know anything . . .

The Pre-existence
is where we lived with Heavenly Father and Mother and all our Heavenly Aunts
before we came to earth. You know, where everyone was Mormon. We all smiled
like this. You’re not smiling. It was the coolest place. Kinda like Krypton
where Superman lived before he came to earth in that egg-shaped-pod-dash-spaceship-thingy.
Planet Krypton. Krypton with a “K”. You know over by Kolob. Everything was in
its perfectly created pre-mortal form and everyone was friendly and happy because
nothing bad had ever happened to anyone. And just like Superman had to watch
all those videos about trees and Shakespeare and stuff we had classes to learn
about mortality while we anxiously awaited to go down to earth where we would
gain a body and suffer. Except when we got there we would forget it all. Except
for me. I remember everything.

I remember I was
in love with Jimmy Flinders. Brother Jimmy Flinders. That’s like not knowing
who Curly is from Oklahomo. Homa! Like Will Swenson—a young Brother Swenson—only not yet married to Sister Audra McDonald.
She ended up with thirteen Tonys, you
know. You really should get your Golden Age of Mormon Musicals straight.

The first time I
saw Jimmy was at a class we were taking on dating and eternal marriage. I was
there with my best friend, Emily. Sister Emily Pearson. We were learning how to
get a husband down on Earth. We were chatting away like we always did when
Jimmy walked into the Pre-mortal Conference Center. Talk about a First Vision.
He was tall, blond, blue-eyed, six-foot-two, a hundred and eighty-five pounds, tanned,
toned, tight muscular swimmer’s build. There was no question he was the tops!
I wanted so bad to be his husband . . . his wife . . . his eternal companion! After
we finished our two-year missions to DisneyWorld Orlando, Paris, and Shanghai, of
course, and our degrees in music/dance/theatre at Brigham Young University. You know, the Lord’s University?

Emily and I were
fighting over him.

“He’s mine!”

“No, he’s mine!”

“He’s looking at
me.”

“Well he saw me
first!”

After the closing
prayer we jumped out of our seats and raced towards Jimmy. I was afraid Emily
would get there before me. I could never compete with her. She was fair and
delightsome with righteous blue eyes and absolutely gorgeous--not dark and
swarthy like me. Not to mention the nicest and funniest girl in the Pre-existence.
I only hung out with Pre-mortal Mormon Royalty. If Emily talked to him first I
would lose my chance.

I was in the lead
but as I rounded the refreshment table the director of the Pre-mortal Mormon
Tabernacle Choir, Brother Evan Stephens, stepped in front of me. I crashed into
Brother Sondheim. Red punch and Oreos went flying everywhere. All over Brother
Bernstein. Sure enough, Emily got a date with Jimmy to the Pre-mortal Gold
& Green Ball at Pre-mortal Saltair. All I got was a mop and a seat in the
alto section in the MoTab choir right between Sister Latifah and Sister Knight
and all her pimps. Polyps. Pips!

Do you have time
for this, St. Peter? Good! Time doesn’t exist here anyway so you can stop
looking at your watch. That’s what they kept doing during my Church Court when I was tried as a homosexual. Oh!
Is it, “On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and
to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times; to keep myself
physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight. And obey the law of the
pack?” Crimony-sakes-alive! I hated the Pinewood Derby anyway. I always lost to
the Webelos. But I did win best paint job . . . (Sings) “I was a gay scout when gay scouts weren’t cool . . .”

The pre-mortal
premiere of the long-running, smash hit, Mormon mega-musical Saturday’s Warrior had just ended. This was
centuries before our icons were stolen and our culture raped and South Park trashed
our sacred texts on Broadway. They’re not even Ex-Mormons! Why did they get
to cash in on our Mormon Moment? Opportunistic carpetbaggers shamelessly
attacking someone else’s religion. I would never wage a war on religion like
that. I came five years before themat the puny SoHo Playhouse! How would Jewish
Broadway like it if I wrote a musical called Happy Hanukka! Or a comedy called The Myth of Masada. Everyone dies in the end. They’d run my hot excommunicated
Mormon behind right out of Midtown! Oy! How do you spell Hanukka anyway? You’re
Jewish. You should know. Is that the
password? (Sings) “If I were a Mormon?” And someone forgot to tell Brother Kushner that Mormon Angels in America don't have wings! Is it, “Love your South Park and Tony Kushner enemies. Do
good to them that hate you and pray for them which despitefully use you and
persecute you?” Is it, “I pledge Allegiance to the fag . . . “ Internalized homophobia again mixed with
purple Velvet Rage. “Grant me the
serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I
can. And the Wisdom to know the difference.” Oooooh! Is it the Serenity Prayer? See, it doesn't always work Brother Bill W!

Stop leading me
on. Yes you are. You’ve been egging me down one of my loquacious tangents to use it against me. Loquacious. Long-winded. My reparative therapist hates it
when I use big words and wax poetic. We’ve been working on pithy prose. It’s
your fault. So stop distracting me with your impotence. Ignorance! Innocence?
(Bows and scrapes) I think too fast
ever since I learned to tap dance before my metaphorical burning at the stake. Post Traumatic Spiritual Disorder. Get it? Stake?

Jimmy had made quite a name for himself as a
leading man in that Saturday’s Warrior
production. I was a hippie zero-population dancer in the chorus. I don’t really
blend. But I didn’t mind the chorus as long as I could SLAC off and be a
Saturday’s Voyeur as I watched Jimmy
from the wings as he gave ‘em his big solo number in the second act. “I’ll wait
for you Jimmy!”

Now
auditions were being held for the revival of my favorite Mormon musical, My Turn on Earth. It was clear that
Jimmy was going to be playing the male lead—again! You know the Jesus part who
then gets to play the husband part who then marries the female lead, Barbara? No.
Bar-BA-ra. Not Sister Streisand. Brother Chekhov and Brother Stanislavsky said Jimmy naturally acted the part
better. Whatever! Jimmy didn’t even
like acting or the-AY-ter. He just stood there and acted all butch so everyone
would fall in love with him. That’s not acting. Me playing butch—now that would be acting!

So
I decided I wanted to play the Barbara part. Not only would I be playing a
leading role worthy of my talent but onstage I would get to marry Jimmy. Then after this warm-up run I’d audition for the
hundredth season of Sister RuPaul’s Pre-Mortal
Drag Race. “Lip Sync for your life, Jimmy!” At the My Turn on Earth audition I just kept
thinking of him . . . (Sings)

In these dreams I’ve loved you so—

Or was it . . .

I need Thee ev’ry hour . . .

No!

I’m your Private Dancer . . .

“Next!”

Can
you believe they cut me off? I didn’t even get to sing my high note for Pete’s
sake! Sorry! I didn’t mean to take your name in vain. So guess who got the Barbara
part? Emily. Again! I mean just
because her future mother would write the show was no excuse. I could belt
higher than any of the other girls and I had the best split leaps in my
primordial dispensation—kick-ball-change, snap!—not to mention they should
always give the role to the best actress! Right, Sister Streep?

I
did get cast. You know the part I got? Sa’an. He’s bisexual. He doesn’t get to
marry anyone! Now I would never get to marry Jimmy! So you know what I did? I
learned the entire Barbara part behind Emily’s back just in case she got her
orders to go to earth in the middle of a performance. Someone would have to
fill in and I would be ready! “Emily,
time to come home!”

Getting
sent to earth at a moment’s notice was always a possibility. Once during a
particularly long, hot, Pre-mortal Tuachan candy-wrapper matinee we were all onstage singing, “The world turns ‘round like a merry-go-round.”
There we were, Jimmy, Emily, Dave, Marci and me. We were all destined to become Young Ambassadors at BYU. And right in the middle of the number Marci starts
floating up out of the Pre-mortal Promised Valley Playhouse and down towards earth
with a look of utter surprise on her face. “It
ends with death. It begins with birth. And it’s my turn. Good-bye, Marci!
Good-bye, bass section . . .” Then as Dave and I are doing the dance lift Marci
and I usually do he starts to go, too. But he’s determined to finish the
number. So he’s clinging to me, clawing at the drapes, grabbing whatever he can
to stay on stage—chairs, a table. “Have a nice life, Dave! It’s your turn on earth . . . ” Minutes later a woman
in a remote village in Madagascar gave birth to a white boy and two
chairs. And a really bad hairpiece. Now that’s
the magic of live theater!

I
knew Dave wasn’t a very good pornographer—performer—because only the really bad
ones go to Madagascar—and lemurs. If you didn’t want to end up there—or some
other non-elect country—you knew you had
to razzle-dazzle them every time. No phoning it in, St. Peter. Turn your cell
phone off. Can’t you see I’m performing? You, too, out there all alone in the
dark. You don’t want me to go all Sister LuPone on you, do you? If you're secretly filming me don't forget to tweet it!

There was no way I
was going somewhere non-elect. My
calling and election was made sure. I come from settlers but I wasn't settlin’ for Hollywood. I was going to Broadway. That’s why I made sure my Sa’an
was especially wicked every time. Like in the Star-Wars-in-heaven scene where Jesus and I battle over whose plan everyone
should follow down on earth. The Force was fantastic with me. I’m ready for my
close-up, Brother Scorsese: (Uses flashlight as a Light Saber . . .)

I have a plan

It will save every man . . .

You’re
lucky my light saber doesn’t seem to work up here. Of course, Jesus always won
that scene in the show. But since Jimmy was so cute playing Jesus I didn’t mind
a bit. Huwah! Sock-it-to-me. Sock-it-to-me. Sock-it-to-me. Hallelujah, Sweet Baby Jesus!

One
day after rehearsal I ran into Jimmy in the locker room of the Pre-mortal BYU
Richards Building. He was captain of the pre-mortal football team. “Go,
Cougars! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!” Take that Brother Steve Young. He was
practicing the love duet he sings with Barbara, “Eternity Is You.” He was
having difficulty with the harmony. (Jimmy sings tone deaf) “Eternity is you.”

“Want
some help?”

“Sure.
Thanks, dude.”

“You
can keep your towel on.”

“It’s
all good. No worries.”

“Looking at you I can see right through to
eternity . . .”

We
blended so well together. (Sings tone deaf)
“Right on, Eternity is you.” And as I
looked into his eyes, “Eternity is you.”
I could swear I saw eternity. So I kissed him. Hard. He was surprised I could tell. He decked me. I went flying out
the steam room across the rehearsal cloud into the next dispensation.

“Well,
someone had to do it. And it wouldn’t be right if it was Heavenly Father!”

So
he tooketh pitieth upon me as he turnedeth me in to Heavenly Mother. (Swallows)

I
was summoned to the Pre-mortal Lion House. Heavenly Mother was holding high tea
in the Celestial Tea Room where they serve that delicious non-caffeine Celestial
Seasonings chamomile tea—and coconut and banana and chocolate cream pie. She
was just finishing up her weekly support group for all the women who would be
polygamist wives. It was getting really heated in there so I just waited in the
lobby where I watched reruns of Who Wants
to Be a Mormon Millionaire, Survivor—The
Mormon Trail and Dancing With the In-Active Mormon Stars until
the sisters finally came out. There was Sister Smith. “Hi, Emma!” Boy did she
look pissed.

I
was a little nervous. It was so rare to actually see Heavenly Mother I forgot
what she looked like. She came sweeping into the room. “Is that my little
Steven? Welcome back, dahling!” Now I knew why they never talked about her.
She’s fabulous! She was a cross between Auntie Mame, Betty Davis, Martha
Stewart and Oprah Winfrey all rolled into one. And she liked Cher! And Downton
Abbey! And she spoke the holy ancient iambic double-entendre dialect, too!

We
immediately hit it off. I complimented her ZCMI tea set and offered a few
decorating tips as I rearranged the white daffodils on the table. Then I helped
pick out her veil for the Pre-ordination High Priest Gala to be held later that
evening. She moaned and groaned, “Why do I always
have to sit in the back and wear a veil? I am the mother of all Creation,
dagnab it! Where are we, Pre-mortal Afghanistan? And that old worn-out temple video.
It didn’t even make it into Pre-mortal Slamdance. Did they really think it was
my first time at the Celestial Rodeo? Your Heavenly Father and I weren’t always
Mormon, you know. It’s always Jesus this
and Lucifer that. What about my Heavenly Daughter! (Sighs) Poor little Whitney . . .”

She was livid she
didn’t have her own email address on the Celestial Internet. She grinned as she
told me how she’d secretly gotten hold of Heavenly Father’s patriarchal password. “Just four simple letters. Now I can send inspiration
to my children whenever the heck I like!”

We
spent the rest of our precious time together swapping pioneer funeral potato recipes and doing
green Jell-O salad shots with shredded carrot sprinkles. And taking turns doing
staged readings from early drafts of Mother Wove the Morning: Sixteen Women
Throughout History In Search of the Female Face of God from Pre-mortal Sunstone--the Mormon International Fringe Festival. Her “Rape of the Levite’s
Concubine” was thrilling but it left me completely exhausted. Boy could she chew
the road-show scenery! Then we recited our favorite poetry by Sister Maya
Angelou and Carol Lynn Pearson: “I know why the caged bird sings” and “We who
are seed of Deity . . .”

Before
we knew it, it was time for her to go. “I must leave you now. How kind of you
to let me come.” I think she forgot why I was summoned to meet her. I rushed to
help her put on her veil, her gloves and her black mink stole. “Thank you my
dahling boy. (Perfumes herself.) Mmm.
White Diamonds! (Pauses) Steven, is
there anything special you’d like down on earth? Anything at all! A share at Fire
Island, a shopping spree to City Creek or an unlimited Prada gift certificate
perhaps? How would you like to teach drama at the Waterford School or wait tables at the New Yorker Restaurant--that quaint, pretentious wannabe Four Seasons where all the Jack Mormon lushes of Salt Lake hang out. Or maybe
have your own special table up front at the Annual Equality Utah Allies Dinner
next to Bruce Bastian? You can wear this tiara. I’ve got hundreds. Here’s my
broach and matching ruby slippers. Use this golden lasso and take my diamond earrings.
These have always brought me luck.”

“Oh,
our dear kind and gracious Mother in Heaven, I just want to marry Jimmy
Flinders . . . and become a real boy.”

“Yes, I see. He is a stud isn’t he? And you are just
a little too old for Brother Bruce and
Brother Geffen. Well, don’t tell your Heavenly Father but I’ll see what I can
do. I’ll work on your case with Jimmy personally. And do call me Christina. Not
Tina! You would have loved my
Heavenly Mother. She used to say, “Christina! Give that heavenly virgin act a
rest! You're no Madonna Ciccone. (Admiringly) You've never seen a mother eat her young as well as she could . . . and (Sings) with one look turn a man to stone."

“You must join me
and the entire female Relief Society for my Celestial Tea Party when
everything’s all said and done. You’ll fit right in. Oh! If the Judgment
doesn’t go well for you . . . I’ll leave your name at the Pearly Gates. “Pearls!
Pearls! PEARLS!” Would you be a dear
and light this for me? Thank you, dahling. I’m as old as Time and I’m still
sneaking cigarettes! We’ve come a long way, baby!”

“Oh! I’m late! I
must needs pick up my husband’s third-billionth award-winning wife to bring her
to his after-hours altar. Katherine Hepburn’s so much fun. I don’t know why
Kate can’t stand him. Talk about Big Love.
There’s a reason he’s in charge. By God
it’s enormous! (Sighs) I just go along with it all the best I can and see where it’s all
going to lead as I watch and wait to pick up the pieces. But tonight’s reserved
for just me and E-lo-HIM!" (Laughs)

“Oh, Steven. Don’t
you worry. Everything’s going to turn out fine if you just keep your sense of
humor. You’ll see. Make sure you write a new one-woman show just for me. That
way I can visit whenever you channel me. Call it Conversations with Heavenly Mother: An Uncommon Diva! (It opens Mother’s Day!) Just tell St. Peter you’re here and I’ll have him buzz you right
in!”

“I’ll be watching
out for you, Steven. Especially during those pesky periodic binges in Palm
Springs when you get lost while homeless and high on North Palm Canyon Drive. Just be your authentic true self starting right now. No more posing and posturing and impersonating. You're enough. And beware of human trafficking. You’re just a little too adorable and your humor's rather hokey which actually jacks up your price so beware! You're worth much more. Cynicism is common and cheap. Nevertheless and not withstanding always remember I love you and it's not nice to fool Mother Nature!" (Thunder and lightning)

I
am telling the truth, St. Peter. Do
you think I just made all this stuff up? How could I possibly make up someone
like my former mother-in-law Carol Lynn Pearson? We’re sealed for time and all
eternity you know. Ask her lawyer. I
heard the glorified resurrected literary reality star ended up here. I’ve never
met anyone more excommunication-proof. Who’s she sleeping with? She hasn’t had
a sexy wedding night since her gay husband. She white washed our gay Mormon history. And
erased me from herstory. You don’t know who she is? The Kris Jenner of
Mormondom? Ask the Brethren. They think she’s the Wicked Witch of Facing East so to keep a close eye on
her and patronize the SLUT counter-culture they made her the alternative prophetess.
Emphasis on the profit. She still works for them. They actually invented her. Same old Mormon propaganda art--but for the Leftist Mormons. Lady Utah. The original Mama Dragon. She signs
your shared royalty paychecks. Kidding! Gotcha! Every key stroke on her Word Perfect computer
goes ALT, SHIFT, DAMAGE CONTROL. (Sings) “But she’s always a Mormon to me . . ." Everyone’s defending their tiny little piece of gay
Zion these days. All those little fishes in that big snowy puddle. I never should have commissioned Brother Southey to do her oil portrait. I should have had mine done first before he died. May he rest in peace. Okay,
so I’m a little bitter and jealous of her following. That’s my fan base! She’s not even gay. That we
know of . . . Shhh. She thinks she's Dolly. Not Sister Parton. Brother Lama.

(Coughs) That cigar! How come everyone
gets to smoke up here? Even the casinos in hell are non-smoking today. (Inhales.) I love that smell. Never pick up smoking at the
Edinburgh Fringe Festival. It’s not worth it. There’s only so much Botox and
Crest Strips can do after the Resurrection. See, I’m improving. I caught myself
before I could subconsciously pre-insert the word erection.

Could
you please check the list again? Brother Fffffales. Not “S” as in Sa'an,“F”
as in Freakshow. Not F-A-I-L-S. F-A-L-E-S.
Fales is an old Welsh name meaning “Son of Fagel.” Spelled F-A-G-e-l. Fagel, also
pronounced feygella meants “to be
glad” which is a synonym for happy or gay—and that’s also why I smile like
this. (Smiles) So am I on the list?
Mitt Romney, Orin Hatch, John Huntsman, Donald Trump, Sarah Palin . . . Obama?! He’s a Muslim! That’s the
straight Terrestrial list! I’m on the Te-lestial
list. Well, tell them to find it and fax it up! Geez Louise! Please? Put your
12-inch Subway down. Is it, “Please bless these cookies and hot chocolate to
nourish and strengthen our bodies to do us the good we need in serving Thee and
keeping Thy commandments?” Well now you’re hoggie’s been blessed. And you’ve got
mustard on your mustache.

I
can’t wait to see my kids again. It feels like a gazillion-quadrillion millennia
have passed. But who’s counting? Judgment Day was the last time I saw them.
What a fiasco! Cost me every dime I didn't have. My ACLU attorney was late and my sponsor was drunk. My case
worker couldn’t even speak English. And my star witness testified against me—bitter
old ginger! All those false allegations of child abuse. NOT TRUE! The DCFS
report came back unsubstantiated for any physical or emotional abuse! I was screaming
bloody murder when they tore me away from my kids. They sentenced me to eternal
damnation with no visitation rights until the end of eternity! Whenever that
is. I grabbed this picture of them though before they hauled us gay dads away
in that crowded circus railway car. (Pulls
frame out of backpack and shows it to St. Peter.) I keep it by my cot in my
studio apartment on the Lower East Side of Hell. This is Buddy and Gee-Gee when they were five and three. Just before the divorce. See the light in their eyes? Those are their nicknames. I'm still court-ordered to not even mention their names on Facebook. Gag order.

My
lesbian psychiatrist assures me that no parent’s perfect. Thank goodness I’m
not alone! She’s a quack. All she wants to do is dope me up on lithium. I never slept with my sponsees or patients. I will never hire a shrink again without looking up their reviews on Yelp!

I tried to be a good
non-custodial dad. We’d wrestle, put puzzles together, jump on the trampoline.
I’d read them Harry Potter books with
my “scary voice”. My son had nightmares for a year. I even taught them existential-crisis
Shakespeare monologues when they could barely even speak,“To be or not to be that is the question.” I know my son would've
preferred to have gone to a Yankees game instead of the Metropolitan Museum but
that Jacqueline Kennedy exhibit was not to be missed! I took them to their
first Broadway show, The Lion King. I
was Mufasa. They were my Simba and Nala in the Patriarchal Circle of Life. Our
favorite thing was to put on the ABBA CDs and dance around the living room.
(Sings) “Angel Eyes, one look and you’re hypnotized . . . We’d fly and fly
and fly . . . like Dumbo! Every time I snuck into see their middle school musical the
principle called an Amber Alert. I was at both their baptisms even though
the bishop didn’t think I was worthy enough to even say the opening prayer. Ha! What excommunicated homosexual do you think helped with the program? I got my
dad, Perfect Bishop Cowboy Dr. Fales to baptize them! Pa! Who sewed on all
those merit badges and taught them how to clean and do chores around the house
like my dad? Certainly not their mommie. Boy did she take me to the cleaners. I
graduated from the Y but Emily was the Cougar. Is MILF the password? I meant
DILF. You’ve been working out, St. Pete. I like the scruff! And the tattoos. Woof!
Oh, I can’t wait to see them all. I meant the kids. Do you have Catholic kids,
St. Peter? You look like a breeder .
. .

Now
where was I? Oh, the Pre-existence! Let me get back into pre-mortal character bursting with magnificent exuberance, effervescence and exultant alacrity. That means cheerful readiness. I'm gilding the lily again. Don't tell Brother Nicolosi.

So anyway, I left
the Celestial Tea Room so excited the first thing I wanted to do was find Emily
and tell her what Heavenly Mother had said about Jimmy and me. I thought I’d
cut across Pre-mortal Temple Square. During the "knee-jerk kiss-in vigils”
before they took over Main Street. The trees were all lit up. They keep it
Christmas all year ‘round so they don’t have to take the lights down. Every day
is the Winter Molympics. Everything was still. A hazy white mist descended and
hovered over the ground like the Holy Ghost. It's good for your complexion. I could hear crying. I followed
the sound toward the temple. As I got closer I could make out the figure of a
little girl who was sobbing on the steps. No one’s supposed to cry in the
Pre-existence. I put my hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me with the most
beautiful Greco-Mormon brown eyes.

“What’s
wrong?”

She
just handed me her golden envelope. That’s the envelope your orders to go to earth
come in. It’s where you learn all the horrible things that are going to happen
to you in advance. Kinda like a psychic patriarchal blessing before you go to Earth. You’re not supposed to be sad or question
your assignment or where you are sent because we’re told that everyone will win the trials and tribulation lottery. "Many are called but few are chosen to win the suffering powerball." Can you believe I still have it? Right here in my sacred rainbow sleeve
pocket! So I wouldn’t have to memorize it. I’ve been busy. I had to produce
this amazing show myself, you know. Brother McIntosh was busy. (Reads)

Having
been true and faithful in many things we desire to give unto you your orders to
go unto earth. You will be one of ten children who will have the gospel
literally beaten into you by your white trash parents in Reno, Nevada. (That’s Nevada not
Ne-VAH-da. We don’t say A-la-BAH-ma do we?) But it's okay. Your contractor dad will work for the mafia in Vegas which will make your family stunningly nouveau riche. You'll have diamonds and your pilots license at 15 but will be married off before your high
school graduation. Everyone will expect perfection from you as you raise six
children. Don’t expect much help from your clodhopper husband who'll be born in a barn and raised on a tractor. He will be busy going to
medical school, delivering babies, fulfilling church callings, caring for his
horses and doing genealogy in all his spare time. After your divorce, with no
degree or skills, your health failing and an abusive second marriage you will
fight depression, want to die most of the time and be thought of by everyone as
crazy. But because you caught onto their gaslighting you will fight to the
bitter end and by any means possible. You will be cursed with never, ever, ever
knowing the sometimes very useful meaning of the word surrender.You’re
a real trooper, Sister Baby Boomer.

‘Preciatcha!

--Your
Heavenly Father and Uncles

I editorialized and expounded, “Whoa!
That’s pretty bad. I can totally empathize. It must really suck to be a girl.
I’m glad I’m not one. I only act like one. But, hey, let me pontificate! I can go down and help you
through the hard times. I love to cook, clean and sew. I’m great at curling
bangs and changing diapers. When you’re pregnant, I’ll bring you pans to throw
up in so you won’t have to crawl to the toilet. I’ll be there for you when your
husbands are not and I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated. I can
erase myself for you. Keep me home from school once a week to go to lunch. I won’t be mad when you just take off to Europe when
I’m two and leave me and my baby brother with his cleft palate for six weeks with dad who will potty-train me by spanking. And
you know what else? Just take all the pills and Oxycontin you think you need. Let’s
hang out. It’ll be fun!”

So she agreed to be my mother and we
filled out the paper work. As soon as she signed her name she floated up past
the illuminated spires of the temple and out of sight.

I thought, “This is great!” Not only did I
know who my husband was going to be, I knew who my mother was! I couldn’twaitto tell Emily. But when I found her
outside the Pre-mortal BYU Wilkinson Center eating ice cream again I could tell
something was really troubling her. She had just gotten her orders! “No,
Emily! Don’t mix that bottle of Prozac with Rocky Road. You can’t kill yourself
in the Pre-existence anyway! Here, let me read it!”Voila!(Reads)

Your
father, whom you will love more than anyone in the world, will die of a disease
called AIDS when you're just sixteen. Your steeped-in-denial mother will dismiss your pain and will cash in with a Random
House bestseller and tons of sequels that will blow your anonymity forever.
This will send you into years of depression and a cycle of abusive boyfriends.
To top it off, you will have a terrible condition that will make you want to
win an Academy Award which will take you to Hollywood where you will get your
SAG card and your butt will be on Baywatch. Then you will escape to Salt Lake
City and fall in love with the man of your dreams. But after a short time your unofficial
fiancé will die in your arms of cancer.
But the very next day you will meet
your first and only husband (as of this writing). He will be extraordinary, wonderful, awesome, amazing, sweet and practically-perfect-in-every-way with impeccable handwriting who isn’t nearly
as narcissistic as everyone thinks he just because he will write shows about
you to the end of the universe when he purchases signed depiction releases from you, your mother and the kids. (I’m not narcissistic. I’m just drawn that
way.) He will be a very cute boy two whole years younger who likes ABBA songs and
will remind you a whole lot of your father. Especially the part about being
gay. (I thought, Cool! What a cool thing to marry someone happy!) Together you
will have two incredible children and endure poverty and grad school in the
backwoods of Connecticut (where the wards are nothing like the wards in Utah).
Then after being married six years you will both stop smiling because . . . well . . . because . . ."

Just
then, the arch-angel Gabriel handed me
a golden envelope. My orders! (What,
you
couldn’t get Michael?) I was so excited I ripped it open:

Having been true and faithful in
many things we desire to give unto your orders to go unto Earth. You will be
gay. Good luck!

Gay?
Cool! But why do you need good luck if youre going to be happy? Didn’t Emily’s
orders say something about happy, too? Her “gay” father? And the father of her
children? I liked ABBA songs. What if I was to be Emily’s “happy” husband? I
liked ABBA songs. What if I was to be Emily’s “happy” husband? (Pause) Yuck! Wait I don’t really mean
yuck. I was a good and cunning linguist. We were far too good of friends to let
that happen! Besides, I already knew who I was going to marry. Heavenly Mother
said!

Emily
tried to read me the rest of her orders—and all the neat projects she would
produce and books she would try to write in the valley of the shadow of her incapacitating mother--and how she would also lose a sister who would die HIV positive . . . and her two anti-social brothers would dwindle in unbelief. “Then after being married six years to this amazing guy, you will both stop
smiling because—“

“Jimmy!”
There he was coming out of the Pre-mortal Marriott Center. “Jimmy, wait up!
You’ll be all right, Em. We all will. I just know it. I’ve gotta run. You’re my
best friend, Em--named after Emily Dickenson. I’ll see you when we get back from earth.
Can’t wait to see your fabulous butt on Baywatch! Look for me, Em. I’ll be the
happy one with good luck and a bunch of one-man shows on Broadway. Well,
off-off Broadway! Hey, Jimmy! Dude! Wait
up!”

I
didn’t even reach Jimmy before I started to float away into the starry black star-drop
sky toward earth. There was my name in the Constellation, “Mormon Boy!” Let us go down,
down, down I floated, across the Atlantic to Provincetown. There was Broadway. Yes! But, no . . . I kept
floating over the Rocky Mountains pirouetting clouds of glory toward Ballet
West as I landed with a thud in the nursery of Happy Valley County Hospital in
Provo, Utah, USA. The last thing I remember before the veil kicked in was I was
looking around for Jimmy. Where was he?

Am
I boring you, St. Peter? Well, you were yawning. That was a good action scene. My
very best SFX and chaine
turns. I bet you don’t see many gays up here do you? Oh, I know, “Hate the sin,
love the sinner.” More like “hate the sin; ignore the sinner.” You probably
think I had a choice down on earth, don’t you? That I wasn’t gay in the
Pre-existence and that I thought I’d just be clever and use my free agency to
ruin everybody’s life on earth because it might be fun, huh? That I chose to be gay so I could prostitute. Proselytize! Who shall we send to be the villainous village whipping boy? "Here am I. Send Maleficent!" The Hartford Courant said, "For the pure sensuous embodiment of evil Steven Fales alone as Edmund in King Lear is worth the price of admission." Or was it just the Norwich Bulletin? Mormon Outer Darnkness,
please. Bwahahahahaha! (Lights go out.
Steven makes monster face with flashlight and speaks with authority.)

God made no man a
pervert. You should rid yourself of your master, the devil, Satan. You do his
bidding. You are in abject bondage, a servant compelled to do the will of
Lucifer. The death penalty was exacted in the days of Israel for such
wrongdoing. When the spiritual death is total, it were better that such a man
were never born. Remember, homosexuality can be cured. You may totally recover
from its tentacles. Don’t be selfish, lazy and weak. How can you know you
cannot change until your knees are sore from praying and your knuckles bloody
from knocking on the Lord’s door for help?

Would
you like to see the scars on my knuckles? If you only knew how hard I tried to
prevent this. Believe it or not, I never asked to be gay. All I ever asked for
was marriage equality . . .

(This concludes the Pre-Existence portion of the play as it then settles into the nuts and bolts of the story: reparative therapy, excommunication, divorce, losing custody of the kids and descent into a ferocious gay adolescence before finding himself. Will Steven finally make it into the Celestial Kingdom? Who will he find there? In the name of all that's absurd in Brecht's Epic Theatre you can probably guess the answer. It's HOW we get there that will be worth your ticket price. http://mormonboylive.brownpapertickets.com.)